


Skip Beat

by korik



Series: She is Mine(to kill) [5]
Category: Black Widow (Comics), Captain America (Comics), Captain America (Movies), Captain America - All Media Types, Winter Soldier (Comics)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, Alternate Universe - Vampire, Alternate Universe - Werewolf, Animal Traits, Bounty Hunters, F/M, Gen, Implied Relationships, Jealousy, Past Brainwashing, Possessiveness
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-04
Updated: 2014-05-04
Packaged: 2018-01-21 20:34:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1563185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/korik/pseuds/korik
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There is technically no bucky/nat for much of this series, the idea is that this is tagged as such to say this is the intended end game, and he as the Winter Soldier has been forced to be fixated on her, partially because he wants to save himself/keep himself sane (though he doesn't always realize this, and the narration is intended to reflect that), and partially because its his mission. He doesn't know whether to kill her or sleep with her.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Skip Beat

It takes nearly three and a half months later (three months, 13 days, 6 hours - but who is counting) until he sees the Widow at work.

As it has been so long, there is a wash of fresh emotions pounding at his door, every day a fight to keep his mind in one piece, but at least he has become proficient at blending in, even managing to get on the good side of a Nightsider mob boss. He doubts, however, the good side is really all it is cracked up to be what with the noise, spaghetti, and business they conduct.

It is late at night, darker than usual thanks to the moon having disappeared for the evening (and especially since his mind tries to remind him there was a sun once at this time), and it takes every inch of his senses to taste the trail she has left behind. He has slowly build up rapport with the people she has filtered in and out of various aspects of her life, so to be so close to a fresh smell is nearly leaving him panting. The Soldier resists the urge to ram his face against embarrassing objects and inhale deeply, to satisfy the beast that hungers under his flesh for the conclusion of a Hunt so long. And yet he is good for several reasons, and he is determined to continue to be so.

It is strange how, away from the Red pack, his instinct for survival has coming swimming lazily back, particularly when he is awake. Asleep it crashes into his skull and takes more command of him than the monster he controls at his fingertips.

Through the streets, lightly attired to deal with the lukewarm weather (and his increased body heat), he slowly clamors after the smell, taking his time to evaluate his surroundings, shying from the louder noises that make his flesh crawl and his body to itch with the urge to lash out.

As he avoids the rare vehicle which becomes rarer still the further outside of the main New York city innards he crosses through, his nose catches a whiff of another smell - tainted, but mostly human - embedded in leathers and oils, and the rare high class fabrics that some Nightsiders offer to make for a price (some say from the very essence of the night itself). A lip curls back in distaste - recognition, and he was almost too late.

Crouching down low, he strains his delicate hearing for the miniscule differences a sniper would use, all too aware the usual tell-tale clicks of high powered rifles will be gone with this one.

There. Right there. A shady figure with a speck of sweat on his brow, his carefully goggled eyes, glistening pale white, exposed for once as the lack of light in these broken down streets, many of which are completely abandoned thanks to the destructive fire that was experienced here a couple years ago when one of the holes embedded in the fabric of space and time ripped open, bringing the non-Nightside god's adoptive brother through, are no longer in play. (The brother had come along with a massive army, of course.)

The man stands strongly, but with a practiced grace, he's obviously listening for noise -

A twist, the Soldier barely catching the shadow before Hawkeye, and he laughs, taking an absent swing at the shade that has appeared and caused the werewolf's mouth to go dry.

He can't really hear what they murmur, but he notices they embrace, and he tries not to rip off the hood of the rusting car up on blocks next to him once his sees the flash of her red hair.

Did they kiss? They had to have kissed.

Wild emotion seizes him as the wolf is torn between a kind of jealousy he cannot place, and sorrow.

A shift of the breeze and his eyes lid heavily, all other thoughts once more gone. He smells her, soft and quiet - an altered Nightsider, once human - a sensation akin to the memory of a sun in the sky collecting in his mind. He admits he knows little of her particular alterations, done early on before many humans had any ideas as to what or how the inhuman things worked. He recalls musing once he had thought her a vampire, and how she had asked to sleep with him.

The memory fragments, and his arm sends pain through his frontal lobe.

The mission. The mission is to remove all the damaged parts she has created by leaving the Red, and, consequentially, anyone she has had dealings with. For a moment, he snorts. Do they expect him to perhaps find some way to blow up the entire remnants of the old United States? What about the rest of the world? He knows she is old, she has been awake longer than he, he who had unnatural life given to simply by becoming a frozen dessert once every few years. But he must pick the people she cares or has met out of her life, and bleed them dry for what they know.

Why hadn't they just sent one of the mind melters?

He doesn't shift his weight when his leg threatens to cramp from his held position, and he waits to see them go.

Another embrace and the blackened shadow with its array of hand tied and hand manufactured materials disappears first, the bowman to follow.

With careful steps, he, too, slinks after them in the day, bright eyes shimmering with what light there is.


End file.
